The Tide Turns
by teyr25
Summary: A single bullet radically changes the course of the war and old allegiances are questioned, then discarded. Revised and expanded after feedback. Contains Selvaria angst.
1. Chapter 1

The Gallian countryside was quiet, most of the people asleep in their beds. Shell craters and pockmarked walls were small hints of the fierce fighting that had taken place mere days ago. The empty streets came to life as the steady growl of engines interrupted the quiet. Paired lights stabbed through the darkness, illuminating the sillhouettes of bulky Imperial combat uniforms and machine guns.

Cezary Regard bounced uncomfortably in his seat as the command car rattled down the dirt road. A chain bound his right hand to the wall of the open cabin; a helmeted guard sat behind him, a rifle across his knees. "Captured with a bunch of stinking Darcsens..." he muttered darkly around his bruised face.

"Quiet you," the guard barked, punctuating the remark with a none-too-gentle dig from the rifle butt.

Cezary hissed as fire ran down his back from his broken ribs. _So much for sympathy with another member of the "master race"_ he thought sardonically. "Can I ask where we're headed?"

"To hell, along with all the other dark hairs we're hauling along."

Cezary stiffened despite his injured side. "Watch it. I'm no _Darcsen_."

The driver laughed. "Anyone we catch fighting with those oily haired bastards playing soldier is a Darcsen-lover. Far as I'm concerned, that makes you worse'n them." Regard glared balefully in response. He opened his mouth to deliver a scathing comeback when he noticed a sudden glint in a nearby window. The insult and his injured side were all forgotten as he came to the sudden realization it was a rifle scope. _Damn!_

Cezary ducked as the sniper's bullet crashed through the driver's helmet with a wet slap. The car abruptly accelerated as the driver's form went suddenly limp, careening off the road into a shallow ditch. A lamppost filled the windshield as the vehicle was crashed to a bone-rattling stop. As Cezary groaned from his place on the floor, the guard scrambled to his feet, racking the command car's machine gun and lighting up the night with frantic bursts.

Cezary unceremoniously grabbed the driver's corpse, tearing at his belt for a weapon of some kind. His seeking fingers encountered a pistol, dragging it free of its blood-spattered holster. A burst of incoming fire forced the Imperial guard duck away from the gun mounting, nearly landing on top of Regard. Cezary reflexively fired, the guard's body muffling the gunshot. He cursed as he worked his way out from under the armored weight, dragging himself upright.

He bent over the guard's prone form. "Let's get one thing straight," he hissed venomously. "I hate dark hairs, but I hate scum like you even more." The ex-prisoner patted him down, neatly pulling the handcuff keys out of the man's pocket.

Cezary raised the pistol but wavered, trying to decide whether to finish the damned Imp or not. His ruminations were brought to a screeching halt as another bullet slammed into the seat an inch from his head. Cezary yelped as he fell ignominiously out of the car, crawling into some shrubbery to wait out the rest of the battle.

* * *

><p>Edy Nelson gleefully sprayed the convoy with her Mags, a stream of brass tinkling about her feet. Slamming a new magazine home, she rushed the stopped trucks, sweeping the tarp from the rearmost machine. "Out of this smelly truck, darlings!" she trilled, pausing to gun down an advancing convoy guard. Down the entire convoy, a steady rattle of automatic fire and the occasional crash of a grenade signified the other Sevens making short work of the stalled vehicles.<p>

"Eek!" Edy dropped behind the truck as red tracers snarled past. She went stock still and as the dull growl of an Imperial armored car heading her way reached her. With a smirk, Edy pulled a grenade from her belt and prepared to charge the vehicle. _Finally a chance to show up Corporal Stark!_

As she jumped out from behind the truck bed, a familiar red headed figure rushed past. Rosie crossed the distance to the vehicle in seconds and jammed her Mags into the nearest view port. A few deafening bursts found their mark in the crew as the vehicle shuddered to a halt. She glanced quickly inside. "Yeah! Rosie, 1, Imps, 0."

_No! I hate that woman! Does she get off on stealing my show?_ Nelson seethed internally as the red headed corporal turned back to face her.

"Good job there kiddo," she said affectionately as she ruffled the shorter woman's silver hair. Plastering a sugary smile on her face, Edy replied. "Oh, it was nothing compared to you Miss Stark. It-" Her words were cut off as a cobalt blue blast rocked the truck. Not bothering to wait and see who had thrown the grenade, both women took to their heels in opposite directions, back into the fight.

* * *

><p>Zaka stayed low to the ground as he crawled up to a truck in the convoy, edging close to the driver's side. Checking his captured ZM MP, he slowly stood up and peered into the open window. The nervous-looking driver was curled up on his seat, clutching a pistol to his chest.<p>

"Surrender!" he barked, swinging the muzzle to cover the driver. The man whirled with a startled scream as he reflexively fired out the window. The shot went wild and the Darcsen reluctantly emptied a burst into the Imperial, killing him instantly. Zaka grimaced at the sight of the gore-soaked cab. "What a waste..." He took a few steps to the canvas-covered truck bed and deftly undid the fasteners.

The world flashed as a wrench connected with the side of his head and a viselike arm encircled his neck. He struggled futilely in the chokehold, head spinning as his vision swam. Then he was free, sliding out onto the floor, gasping for breath.

A familiar shape bent over him, adjusting his glasses in concern. Zaka massaged his neck, looking reproachfully at his friend. "Not a very nice welcome Wavy," he croaked.

"Er... sorry about that," the former schoolteacher said awkwardly. He gestured at the other huddled forms in the back of the truck. "We thought it would be best to help out whoever was attacking the convoy by-"

"Killing them?" Zaka asked wryly as he sat up. "You too missy," he said, pointing an accusing finger at the embarrassed figure clutching the wrench.

Nadine fidgeted as she replied, hiding the spanner behind her back. "Isara taught me how to do that, so when I found this wrench..." She trailed off. "Sorry."

Zaka rubbed at the sore spot on his head, hissing in pain as his hand came away smeared with blood. "Well, never mind that. Let me tell you what's going on." The other Darcsens in the truck crowded around as he spread a map on a bench and shined his light on it. "Captain Varrot wants us to escort all POW's we find to the farm here," he said, jabbing a finger at a red circle on the map. I think Welkin and the rest of the Sevens are setting up some diversion some ways down the road to cover us."

He folded the map back up and tucked it back into the case around his neck. "You don't need to concern yourselves with that though. Just follow us and you'll be fine." Zaka straightened as the firing outside died slowly away. "That's our cue."

* * *

><p>Heinrich groaned as the sounds of battle gradually died on the street. The wound was not serious; the Darcsen-lover's bullet had only grazed his side. But playing dead left a nasty taste in his mouth, and he shuddered to think of what his father, the consummate image of Imperial nobility, would say if he could see that little stunt... but for now, his concern was surviving the battle. Heinrich hopped out and nearly doubled over as his side exploded with pain from the impact. Panting with exertion, he begun to hobble down the road. Maybe it was worse than he had thought. He would definitely need to have that looked at when he got back to camp.<p>

The Imperial guardsman breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the trees. He would wait here for the relief column to show up, and that would be that. No more-

Something flew past his face. Heinrich reflexively looked down, and for a second thought he had been shot, small rivulets of red trickling down his armor. His attempt at words produced only gurgles, his mouth filling with the coppery taste of blood. Heinrich's legs gave out from underneath him as he clutched vainly at his open neck. He looked about sluggishly for the unseen attacker and saw a slim blade, blood dripping from the narrow tip. He fought to raise his head as he attempted to identify his killer... Heinrich's eyes flashed with recognition at his assailant, then went blank for the last time as he collapsed to the dirt.

…_General Bles?_


	2. Chapter 2

_**One month earlier...**_

"General Jaeger."

"Hm?" The sound of his driver's voice finally broke through Radi Jaeger's contemplation. He looked up from the map he had been perusing.

"We've arrived sir."

"So we have." The Fhiraldian stepped out onto a makeshift parade ground, his jackboots crunching on the gravel. The car had parked in a small clearing in one of Gallia's northern forests. It was definitely odd for headquarters to call him out to this godforsaken place, but General Gregor's death definitely did call for an inquiry of some sort.

The driver waved him towards the single small tent erected on the edge of the cleared space. "The board will be along in a moment sir."

"Ah, thank you. Dismissed, private." Jaeger ducked into the tent, taking in the small table and two folding chairs set up in the room. His eyebrows crept toward his hairline. It certainly didn't look like an adequate location for such a high level investigation. _Oh well. Not like I care about ceremony_. With a sigh, Jaeger walked languidly to the table and took a seat in one of the chairs to wait.

It wasn't long. An Imperial Guard captain strode into the tent, flanked by a pair of stormtroopers. The general's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. A captain to inquire into a high-born general's death? His attitude swung from suspicious to alarmed as the two guards assumed positions behind him and leveled their guns at his head.

The Guard captain sat down in the chair opposite him, opening a folder on the metal desk. "General Radi Jaeger. You have been found guilty of sedition and conspiracy to commit treason against his Imperial Majesty."

Radi leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Have I now?"

"Yes." The other officer produced a pistol from a side pocket. "Any last words?"

Jaeger fingered the butt of his own sidearm, tucked in the holster hidden under his coat. He sighed. "Typical."

* * *

><p>Johann finished reassembling his ZM Kar, reaching for the paper and pen in his footlocker. He wanted to finish a letter to his mother before the next deployment, but as he opened the chest, the scout found himself examining his helmet yet again. The polished red surface did little to hide the numerous dents in the steel from Gallian gunfire and shrapnel. One the downsides of being an Ace that he had never expected was the gusto with which Gallians would try to kill him. <em>Maybe they think Aces carry better equipment to pilfer?<em>

For all of the new responsibilities thrust upon him; spearheading assaults, inspiring the line troops, and general hero worship from the new recruits, Johann really wasn't... happy. He found himself by the General's side less often and more crawling in the grass by himself somewhere. When they were actually deployed, of course. For the first time he didn't have very much to tell his mother.

_Oh well. Perhaps it's for the better_. He fell back onto the bunk with a weary sigh.

"Oswald." Johann jumped upright at the sound, slamming painfully into the bunk above him. Head ringing from the blow, he staggered out of the mattress and snapped off the best salute he could manage.

"G-general, sir!" For a brief second Johann thought he saw her smile, leaving him in a bit of a daze as Selvaria started to speak.

"Command has ordered me to attend a special inquiry into the events surrounding General Gregor's death. I expect I'll be out for a few days."

Johann turned hastily back to his bunk. "I'll be ready to go in a minute sir-"

General Bles cut him off. "I'm afraid you're not my escort Oswald."

"Oh." Slightly crestfallen, he turned back to face her. "Who is your escort then sir?"

Selvaria paused. "A man from Central."

The Ace blinked. "You're going alone? At least take Nonnenhof or one of the others."

She shook her head, her tone rueful. "I'm afraid orders are orders, Johann."

The scout sighed heavily. "Understood, sir."

"I appreciate your understanding, Johann." The general turned on her heel and strode out the door, leaving Eisen to his thoughts once more.

* * *

><p>Selvaria looked pensively up at the sky as she climbed into the waiting car on the parade ground. <em>Be safe, Your Grace...<em>

Erwin Dorscht peered through his field glasses from a nearby battlement as the general's car pulled smoothly away. The young Imperial turned to the older man leaning against a nearby wall as he lowered the binoculars.

"Package Two is away sir," he said tonelessly.

The other man sighed and snapped away the cigarette he had been smoking. "The Azure Witch was less of a problem than I would have expected," he murmured absently. "All the same, I don't envy Bismarck's squad..." He lit another cigarette and wheeled back to face Erwin. "Begin the operation Dorscht," he snapped as he walked off down the wall. "I'll meet you at the rendezvous in half an hour."

Erwin snapped off a salute as he turned to go. The young Imperial nobleman did not care for this new mission the Black Hand had received, but rumor had it that these orders had come straight from His Imperial Majesty himself, and if there was even the slightest chance that that was true, he intended to personally make sure it was a resounding success.

Dorscht yanked a door open and strode down into the noncommissioned officers mess. Seeing the few men there stiffen to attention, he waved them back down. "At ease, at ease." As he passed a rather nondescript sergeant reading a newspaper, he fumbled and dropped a pen on the rug. Without stopping to retrieve it, he swept out of the room.

* * *

><p>Selvaria leaned back against the car seat, trying to get comfortable in the cramped space. As she looked about the sparse cabin, she noted the driver eying her in the rear view mirror. When she returned the stare, his eyes abruptly swiveled back to the road. The process repeated itself several times. The general's eyebrows furrowed as the man's odd behavior continued. General Bles understood that her figure tended to attract men, but surely this was a bit much? She swiveled in the seat and stared intently out the window, resolving to give the matter no further thought.<p>

* * *

><p>Erwin checked his watch as the rest of his small team padded softly into the narrow service hallway. Ten minutes. They were behind schedule, but not excessively. He nodded to the same nondescript sergeant he had seen in the mess hall.<p>

The NCO nodded back and placed a small case on the side table. Unsnapping the latch, he quietly distributed several Gallian made pistols and suppressors to the gathered men, who tucked the weapons into various pockets and pouches.

Dorscht looked up as he finished his own preparations. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Selvaria looked up as the radio on the car's dashboard crackled. "-ack. Repeat, we are under-" The signal faded into a storm of static. She leaned forward, staring intently at the handset.<p>

"Is this car set to Ghirlandaio's frequency?" she asked, reaching for the handset with a frown.

The man jumped as if stung and stopped the car as he reached for the radio himself. "I'm, ah, sure that Prince Maximilian is… that is, I'm sure that everything's fine. I'm sure there's no need to ah-"

General Bles cocked an eyebrow. "Who said anything about His Grace?" she asked coldly.

The driver's hand shot toward the pistol on his belt, his hand fumbling through the seatbelt. The gun had barely cleared his holster as Selvaria fired her own sidearm, blowing brains and bone over the dash.

The general ran over to the other side of the car, unceremoniously hauling the man's body out of the driver's seat. She laid the pistol on the passenger seat as she put the car in gear.

* * *

><p>Erwin dragged the unfortunate radioman's corpse out of the doorway he had been occupying. The stupid man had almost wrecked their whole operation after he had seen the dead guard one of Dorscht's men had shoved into a nearby locker.<p>

The young Imperial looked over at one of his subordinates, who flashed him a quick thumbs-up. The base of the tower was clear then. A pair of Erwin's men dressed in Imperial Guard uniforms took up their positions flanking the entrance to the keep. Hopefully they would keep any prying eyes out until their comrades could finish the job. Dorscht checked his watch again as they headed up the stairs. Twenty minutes.

* * *

><p>Selvaria floored the accelerator, speeding down the dirt road back to Ghirlandaio. <em>Your Grace, please be alright…<em>

* * *

><p>Erwin fired his pistol as a guard came running down the steps towards him, sidestepping slightly as the guard's charge turned into a boneless tumble down the stairs. He advanced cautiously up the remaining steps to the double doors leading into Maximilian's private office. Dorscht gingerly edged his way up to the alcove the guard had occupied before his demise.<p>

Erwin stepped aside and gestured to his men. Two burly ex-shocktroopers marched up to big wooden doors before matter-of-factly kicking them in.

Maximilian was still seated at his desk, a slightly confused expression on his face. "What is going on, Captain?" he said perplexedly, catching a glimpse of Dorscht's uniform.

Erwin bowed briefly as he addressed the prince. "My apologies Your Grace," he said deferentially. "But our service is to the Emperor." He raised the Gallian sidearm. "Is there any statement Your Grace wishes to be conveyed?"

Maximilian's pupils pinpointed with fury as he gripped the arms of his seat. "How dare you! We-"

Dorscht's first bullet caught the prince in the throat, cutting off the torrent of invective. Blood fountained, the scarlet stream blending perfectly into the Imperial flag on the wall. Maximilian gurgled as he slid out of the chair, thrashing in the spreading pool.

Erwin strode deliberately to the desk, searching for any important dispatches as the nondescript sergeant walked around to the other side of the desk and emptied his pistol into the now-still prince. Dorscht looked up at the clock on the wall and clicked his tongue in distaste. Twenty five minutes. Time to go. He gathered up all the items of note he had found, then, heaving the flag onto the desk, he dropped a match on it, turning his back on the growing inferno.

He nodded to the waiting men, and strode quickly down the stairs, closing the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Selvaria screeched into the courtyard, paying no heed to the curious glances the blood spattered car was drawing, or to the truck pulling out of the parade ground.<p>

She left the car idling in front of the gate, and dashed toward the southern tower. Bles ran through the security checkpoint, then stopped dead. Both guards that were on duty were gone, and a third guard lay sprawled at the base of the stairs, a trail of blood leading up the steps.

Selvaria ran on, taking the steps in twos and threes. _Your Grace…_ "Your Grace!" She burst through the double doors, then halted. The remains of an Imperial flag still smoldered on the charred and blackened desk.

Then she caught sight of the prostrate form on the floor behind it. "Your Grace!" Selvaria dropped to her knees, unmindful of the blood soaking her boots. She cradled the prince's head with unsteady fingers, combing back locks of his hair.

"No… Oh please no…" In an instant, she was back in the research facility of all those years ago, all alone in the world, with no one who listened, or cared. Except that this time, His Grace would not be coming to save her.

Selvaria sat in silence, beyond tears or anger.

General Jaeger dashed into the room, a cut over one eye and his pistol drawn. "Maxi-" He stopped short. "Damn it!" he swore.

Jaeger reflected for a moment, then reached down and took one of her hands. "Selvaria, we have to go!" he said urgently. "There's Imperial guardsmen after us, and there's no time."

General Bles jerked her hand back violently. "What's the difference anyway? If the Emperor's after us, there's no place we can go." She stretched her lips back in an almost maniacal smile. "Besides, I _want_ to see the men responsible for this."

Radi took the trembling woman by the shoulders and shook her, almost shouting in frustration. "You could kill the men that come first, but so what? You think you can take on the whole Imperial Army? Or do you think the man who thought this up in the first place is going to come in person?"

Selvaria hesitated, clearly torn. "But… where can we go?"

Jaeger smiled grimly. "Well, if our friends don't want us, how about we see what our enemies think?"


	3. Chapter 3

Welkin Gunther parted the curtain in the second story of Yoko's small cafe, looking down at the Imperial column rumbling by. He sighed.

After Squad 7's successful strike at Fouzen, Imperial troops had concentrated at Naggiar, prompting General Damon to do the same. The battle had been a disaster, as massive Imperial tank concentrations broke through line after line of General Damon's defenses, leaving the shattered Gallians easy prey for the shocktroopers that followed.

In less than two weeks the war had come to an end as triumphant Imperial troops entered the capital virtually unopposed.

Princess Cordelia had disappeared in the confusion, leaving Prime Minister Borg to sign a capitulation agreement, which he did in short order.

Squad 7 had still been based in Fouzen when news of the surrender reached them. Most of the squad had stayed together as they broke out of Fouzen and attempted to reach the countryside, but a few had been captured in a sharp firefight when the squad had accidently run into the leading elements of an Imperial Panzer division.

Welkin rechecked his squad roster. All the same, they had managed to recapture them when they had caught wind of a POW column heading back east. Most of his soldiers had been able to reintegrate back into Randgriz society without any problems, as the Imperials hadn't managed to fully take stock of their situation after the city's fall.

He paused. The Darcsens on the other hand...

Imperial Guard brigades had been systematically loading every Darcsen they could spot onto trucks headed back east. Exactly where those trucks were going, nobody seemed to know for sure.

Gunther checked his watch. There was supposed to be a meeting with his NCOs in a few minutes, to determine what the squad should do next. He put away his sketchbook and stood to leave.

* * *

><p>Cezary gritted his teeth slightly as he leaned back in a rough wooden chair in the seedy underground basement Nils had managed to find for them. Ragnaid was scarce in the occupied city, and his still broken ribs were letting him know it at every waking moment.<p>

He groaned as Largo accidently bumped his chair in the enclosed space. Instantly Nadine leaned over, a concerned look on her face. "Are you alright?" she asked worriedly. "Fina said you ought to be fine, but..."

Cezary arched an eyebrow as he looked suspiciously at her. The chief engineer had been remarkably solicitous after she had found him trying to crawl out of a drainage ditch after the ambush. "It's alright," he said shortly. "Why do you even care?" _Darkhair_, he added mentally.

Nadine cocked her head, slightly confused. "Because you're a squadmate? Besides, it's because of your hard work that I can even do my job at all."

Regard looked away, having at least the good grace to feel embarrassed. He _didn't_ cover Darcsens when he was sniping; generally one of the other snipers would do it for him.

He looked up as Lieutenant Gunther walked down the narrow stairs, flanked by Sergeant Melchiott and Corporal Stark.

Welkin sat down in the chair opposite him, blinking in the harsh light from the room's single light bulb. "I have spoken to Generals Bles and Jaeger, and they say there will be no problems on their end," he said with forced cheerfulness. "So that's one problem out of the way, and..." He trailed off as he caught Cezary's eye.

"So, have you asked your squadmates what they want to do?" he asked abruptly, almost sounding afraid as to what the answer would be.

Alicia stepped forward first.

_She would_, Cezary thought uncharitably.

"I'd say that my scouts are all in."

Corporal Stark chuckled lightly. "Same here," she said. "In fact, I'd say that some of my troopers would do it even if we tried to stop 'em."

Largo laughed too. "It's starting to look unanimous," he grinned. "My lancers are all onboard too. Theold was a little sticky, but after we reminded him that we'd all be heroes if it worked out, he couldn't say yes fast enough."

Nadine saluted as Welkin looked at her. "Squad 7 engineering section is ready to do its duty sir!" she said formally.

Cezary looked daggers at the engineer. _Duty? What duty?_

The sniper spat as the rest of the squad leaders swung about to face him. "I'd have to say that my snipers all want to get their asses shot off too," he said sullenly. "But not me. My enlistment expired the second Borg threw in the sponge. If you all want to go die, that's your business. I'm out."

Lieutenant Gunther set his pen down on the table, his expression turning grave. "Alright, if that's your choice. Good luck out there Cezary."

Regard stood, limping awkwardly towards the door.

Welkin turned back to the other NCOs. "Alright. Go back to your soldiers and tell them what's happened. Alicia, could you get the snipers? Thanks. Nadine, get back to the farm and update our Darcsen friends on the situation, but be careful on your way out, okay? Largo-"

The closing door cut off Gunther's string of orders.

Cezary leaned against the wall, silently damning the whole squad. Were they all mad? Why bother trying to fight when the war was over already?

Regard pushed off, painfully climbing up the steps. Let those do-gooders get themselves killed. He was in the business of self-preservation.

Cezary slid into a window seat at a popular Randgriz cafe, and picked up a menu, scanning idly for something to eat.

"Live and let live I say. The Imperials haven't done anything that bad to us since they got here, and I hear the new governor's a decent sort. No sense in doing something rash and making the Imps jump on us with both feet."

Regard looked up briefly at the conversation at the next table over.

"I hear you. These Militia holdouts on the woods are the last thing we need now. Just makes the Imps jumpy."

Cezary rolled his eyes. _That_ was the right attitude. Welkin and his little band of heroes would see that soon enough. They-

"Speaking of which, you hear about that one fellow from Squad 7?"

Regard perked up, no longer paying attention to his menu.

"Huh. Isn't that the one the Imps're hunting hard? Hear tell he got captured on purpose, then dragged the convoy he was in into an ambush, all to save a bunch of Darcsens."

"What was his name again? Regal? Regnal?"

"Regard, it was," the waitress at the counter interrupted. "Cezary Regard. There's a 5,000 ducat price on his head for that."

Cezary broke out into a cold sweat. Those damnable Imps had gone and misunderstood the situation, and now he was going to pay for it.

The waitress went on obliviously. "I've even got a picture of him here," she said, waving a poster with Regard's enlistment photograph stamped on the front.

Cezary had had enough. The sniper stood abruptly and half walked-half ran to the door, jerking it open as he jumped out into the street... and straight into a patrolling Imperial guardsman.

The man groaned as he picked himself up off the cobblestones. His partner cocked an eye at the dithering Gallian. "Watch where you're going, why don't you?"

The sniper pasted an artificial smile on his face as he answered. "I'm terribly sorry sir, I was just on my way to an appointment and I quite lost my head. I assure you, it won't happen again."

The fallen man groaned again, this time in disgust. "Get moving then," he said brusquely, jerking a thumb behind him.

"Yes sir. Thank you sir!" Almost giddy with relief, Regard turned to go.

"Wait."

Cezary felt his smile slide off his face as his heart fell somewhere in the vicinity of his boots.

"Sir?"

"Let's see your papers first," the other guardsman said, extending a gloved hand.

"My ah...papers." Cezary stammered, patting at his pockets. "I'm afraid I've misplaced them."

Not true. The sniper knew exactly where his papers were; in his coat pocket, complete with his damning name written all over them.

"Oh?" The first Imperial soldier hefted his MP, looking significantly at his friend. "Then perhaps we should go down to headquarters to see if we can find them."

Regard had heard as much as he needed to. If they took him, the next time he would see the outside of a cell would be the day they took him out to shoot him.

"Come on," the Imp said, taking him by the arm. "Let's-"

His words were cut off as Cezary smashed a windowsill flowerpot into his face and took to his heels.

The other soldier shouted and shouldered his rifle. "Halt or I fire!"

Regard's only reply was to duck as the first round cracked by his head.

Cezary broke half sobbing into the underbrush in the forest outside Randgriz. In the distance he could hear the bay of an Imperial hound as it scented his trail.

He crashed on through twigs and bushes, painfully aware that this was as good as a trail of arrows for the pursuing Imperials.

He was just about to collapse in a heap and let the Imps have him when an arm grabbed him from behind, covering his mouth.

Regard started to struggle before he looked up at a middle aged Darcsen man, who motioned for him to stay silent.

A moment later the Imperial patrol ran on by, cursing as they forced their way through the heavy foliage.

Their voices had almost faded into the distance when a sharp burst of automatic fire rang out in the trees, punctuated by even sharper screams. A couple of rifles barked again, then all was silent.

The Darcsen released him as Cezary began to work his way out again. The Gallian sniper backed himself up against a tree. "Who're you?" he asked shakily.

"Name's Mosby," the older man answered mildly. "I came out to these woods after things started getting a bit too hot under the collar up in Randgriz. By and by, my friends came out into the woods with me," he said, gesturing up at the small band of Darcsens that had quietly approached out of the treeline. "Since you came in here with an Imp platoon hunting for your ass, I'll assume you're no friend of theirs either," he chuckled. "But for politeness' sake, mind telling me your name?"

"Cezary Regard."

Mosby's eyes narrowed fractionally. "I've heard of you. Aren't you the one the Imps're hunting for getting one of their Darcsen prisoner convoys bushwhacked? And you got yourself captured on purpose?"

Cezary looked about him. All Darcsens. Darcsens with rifles actually. "Yep."

The Darcsen leader nodded approvingly. "That took some serious guts kid. You're all right in my book. Welcome to our little band."

The sniper looked askance at him, then sighed. It was hardly like he could go back to Randgriz...

* * *

><p><strong>Author Notes:<strong>

**John**: So we actually had a bit of a process making the description. Stuff like...

A single bullet changes the course of the war, and Selvaria, Isara, Faldi-

**Teyr**: Screw Faldio. Nobody likes him.

**John**: Okay. Next idea!

Selvaria and Jaeger are-

**Teyr**: SPOILERS MATE.

**John**: Verdamnt.

So, our almost finalized ideas:

Contains a certain extremely well endowed, silver haired Imperial general doing insanely naughty acts.

Contains angst, just for you, our dear lovies! Yes. Jann too.

**Teyr**: PERFECT! They'll HAVE to read it now!

**John**: I dunno. Something tells me it wouldn't fly. Like, that last one almost implies it's from Edy's perspective. *shiver*

**Teyr**: Well, you wrote it...


	4. Chapter 4

"We're here, everybody out!" The suspension groaned as the truck shuddered to a halt. Fritz Dietrich hopped out of the bed, glad to stretch his legs after hours under the sweltering canvas. Elsewhere along the stopped convoy, other Imperial guardsmen were doing the same. He waved at his fellow sergeants, also folding themselves out of their cramped wooden seats. "Hans!"

Hans Ulrich was a big man, easily standing half a head taller than any other man in the company. Despite this, he was an easygoing fellow, kind to colleagues and subordinates alike. The shocktrooper was looking over the town with a lazy eye, his helmet tucked under an arm. "Yup. Another little hole at the ass end of nowhere..."

Fritz looked about himself as they walked toward the small cluster of brick and wood buildings that made up the town. "Got any idea where 'the ass end of nowhere' is supposed to be?"

The other _Feldwebel_ shrugged his big shoulders amicably. "Beats me."

"It's called Kierberg," a quiet voice said at his shoulder. Fritz started violently.

"Oberleutnant Klein," he muttered sheepishly. "How have you been?" The small bespectacled officer had the spookiest habit of turning up where you least expected to find him, usually just as you had said something stupid. Klein had only been attached to the unit for a month, but he seemed reliable enough, if a little strange.

"Hm." The first lieutenant gave him a piercing stare, giving the scout an uncomfortable impression that the shorter man could see what he was thinking. After a moment, Klein shrugged and turned away. "Carry on," he said softly as he padded off.

Hans made a face. "You know, I'm pretty sure he _did_ used to be one of the Emperor's top agents. How else can he _do_ that?"

Dietrich shook his head. "Nah, why would he be down here with us then? I'm betting he's with one of those Darcsen hunter squads."

"Probably." Ulrich jerked his head to indicate another thin figure bearing down the road towards them. "Speaking of Darcsen hunting…"

Captain Giorgios Geld came to a halt in front of them, his sallow complexion working excitedly. "And why, gentlemen, are you still standing around when we are here to hunt down enemies of his Imperial Majesty?" The officer sounded almost _too _excited, as if trying to weasel his way out of his established reputation as a total snake.

Fritz snapped off a half-hearted, but neat salute. "We'll get right on it sir."

"Good," Geld purred. "Quickly now."

Dietrich rolled his eyes as he strode away from the officer, his heel irons clinking against the cobblestones. Enemies of his Imperial Majesty? As if. The unit's orders were simply to go from town to town, gathering up militia stockpiles, and perhaps arrest the occasional troublemaker.

Fritz stopped as a small blond headed boy peeked shyly around a fencepost. He smiled. He had a brother himself about the boy's age, perhaps twelve or thirteen by the look of it. "Hi there!" Dietrich smiled again as the head whipped out of sight. The sight of an Imperial soldier was probably still a sight the Gallians weren't used to seeing on their streets, but they'd get used to it soon enough, like Fhirald before them. Seeing nothing more of note, Fritz made his way to the central square, where a number of curious Gallians were already milling about- that was interesting too. In Randgriz, the streets were practically empty; just about everyone disappeared at the first sound of Imperial jackboots. Maybe the occupation wasn't a lost cause after all.

Seeing not much else to do, Fritz took a seat on a wooden bench overlooking the town's small fountain. Here, the people mostly ignored him and the other Imperial soldiers. There was definitely an easy atmosphere despite their presence. It reminded Dietrich a little bit of his own home in the Empire's hilly north, both in the friendly, trusting people and the rustic setting. The thought of it made him a little homesick.

"Find anything?" Hans broke Fritz's train of thought as he plopped heavily onto the bench beside him.

"Huh? Oh, nope. You?"

Ulrich was looking about the square himself, nodding in approval. "Nothing. Town's clean as the Emperor's bath water."

Their reverie was interrupted by the sound of furious shouting from a nearby farmhouse. "Sheltering rebels, hiding subversives-"

The two sergeants exchanged slightly annoyed glances. "Wonder what 'enemy agent' Gelds' found today?" Ulrich muttered under his breath.

"Aiding filthy oil-hairs-"

"Oh." Fritz sat back down on his bench with a sigh. "Geld's got his pants in a twist about some Darcsen again." While the Darcsen hunter squads had been active in Randgriz lately, most small border towns like this one had escaped their notice. It just wasn't worth searching every single place for people that weren't causing much of a problem.

Hans threw a one-fingered salute in the officer's direction. "I wonder if Geld knows that if we bothered to arrest every Darcsen in the Gallian countryside, there wouldn't be enough room for us in our own trucks."

Dietrich took another look at the now agitated Gallians in the square. He tugged nervously at Ulrich's sleeve. "This doesn't look too good," he muttered tersely. More and more townspeople were arriving in the square every minute, their expressions ranging from mutinous to outraged, none of which boded well.

Hans scanned the square slowly. "Maybe we'd better find the _Oberst_," he said, unslinging his MP as he got to his feet.

"Wait." Fritz caught his arm. Lieutenant Klein had appeared next to Geld and appeared to be in the middle of an animated discussion. "Let's find out what's what first." The pair of sergeants trotted up to the conversation, keeping a wary eye on the townspeople.

"I'm sure there's no problem here sir. She's hardly fighting material," Klein said quietly, gesturing at the teenage Darcsen girl Geld was holding by the wrist. If there was any indicator that things were awry, Lieutenant Klein questioning authority was probably one of them.

"Don't believe it Lieutenant!" Geld brayed as he gesticulated furiously with the pistol in his free hand. "I hear Darcsens train their whelps young to undermine honest Europans. She's definitely-"

"A threat, yes." Klein murmured, cocking a significant eyebrow at a forgotten flower cart in a nearby alleyway. Geld flushed to his hairline as nearby troops snickered.

Then very deliberately, he turned and shot the flower girl in the face. Her slight form spasmed once and collapsed onto the ground. All mirth crashed into total silence.

Fritz stiffened in disbelief. "What the fuck?" Hans hissed, mirroring the emotion.

"As you were", Geld said calmly, holstering his sidearm.

"_Hauptmann_ Geld!" a livid voice bellowed. "What do you think you're doing?" Colonel Sauer stormed across the square in a towering rage. The unit commander was a cool-headed veteran; even Geld could recognize the dire situation he had placed himself in. A vein pulsed in the EWI campaigner's temple as he screamed in Geld's terrified face. "I asked you what you thought you were doing, assuming you _can _think, _Schweinehund_!"

Geld had shrunk back from the assault, stepping away from the Colonel in fear. "Sir, I-"

A muzzle flashed in a nearby window. "You murderers!"

The first sign of the Gallian's shock turning to outrage was a rifle bullet catching the Colonel over the right eye. Sauer was dead before his body hit the blood-spattered cobblestones.

"Sniper!" Glass exploded inward and chips of masonry flew as the squad emptied their rifles into the front of the house. Fritz watched with something approaching horror as the boy he had greeted earlier folded out of a second story window to land in the square, his rifle clattering across the stone.

Klein grimaced. "_Scheisse." _If things had ended there, they would have been bad. Instead, they got worse. The town erupted into chaos, scattered townspeople trying to escape as more charged straight into the fray. Rifle bullet started to snap past the Imperials, who hugged the little cover available.

A grenade bounced off the fountain and rolled to a stop, scattering Imperial soldiers before detonating with a bone-ratting slam.

"Kill 'em all!" Geld screamed. And the men obeyed. Fritz's first shot knocked over a barkeep running onto his porch with a shotgun, the next a screaming housewife attempting to flee the square. A shocktrooper's flamethrower wreathed a filling station in flames, erupting into a massive fireball as the ragnoline ignited. The return fire had trailed to nothingness, but the troops wouldn't stop. Self defense had turned into a frenzy of slaughter as Imperial gunfire raked down anything that moved, dangerous or not.

By the time the red mist had cleared from Dietrich's vision, there was little left of the sleepy little town of Kierberg except for a burning black mark on the map. And almost everyone who'd once called it home was dead.

Almost. Within days, news of the slaughter had sent shockwaves through Gallia, for Gallians and Imperials alike.


End file.
